


In The Long Run

by Sapphicsarah



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Angst, Running
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-11-05 14:03:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11014911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphicsarah/pseuds/Sapphicsarah
Summary: Five times Bernie goes for a run, and one time she doesn't.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration from a poem by Alexi Pappas

When she is a child, Bernie loves to run.

In the summers she runs everywhere, and goes scampering after her two older brothers. She chases them, tries to keep up with them as they run from their house on the hill, and down to the village in the valley below.

They run down the pebbled road, along the lanes and to the trees that line the way to the village. The trees stand tall and still, like sentries keeping watch. Bernie loves to climb them, and goes higher and higher each year. Until she can reach the very top branch and look down to the world that seems a little smaller from so high up.

Bernie runs to the top of the hill that rises beyond the stone wall of her mother’s garden. She runs, with scraped knees and the ribbons in her hair flying and falling away behind her.

Her dog Geordi, an australian shepherd, runs with her. He chases her and stands panting when they finally reach the top of the hill. There is a giant chestnut tree at the crest. The lowest branch is too high for Bernie to reach, so she and Geordi settle down between the large roots, and rest against the trunk. The vista of the valley is deep green and lovely, with the patches of fields yellow and brown, and scattered bits of forest between.

Sometimes, when the afternoon sun is bright and warm and the wind is not too strong, Bernie will fall asleep beneath the tree. She buries her hands into Geordi’s thick fur, and falls to sleep with her head resting on his back.

Eventually, Bernie’s brothers stop running. She realizes she cannot run as fast as them, but can run farther. Her legs are long and strong and when she is twelve she discovers she can outrun them. Her heart beats wildly and she breathes hard, and she keeps running when her father leaves home. Her father, who is all soft smiles and laughter when she joins him on his runs. He waits for her to catch up. He waits at the church in the village, smiling until she stops and smiles back. And then they take off again, running up to the shops, and then past the pharmacy, and away to the country lanes.

Bernie runs when he leaves, all stiff and formal in his immaculate uniform. The shiny medals rest on his chest, and seem to weigh him down. He moves slower when he wears the uniform, and leaves home in the soft morning light and does not return for a long, long time.

So Bernie keeps running, harder and faster until she joins the cross country team when she is sixteen. But for her, running is a solitary pursuit, a loneliness that she embraces. Geordi still runs with her up to the top of the hill. He is a little slower, but still makes it to the top in good time. They sit and watch the sun sink slowly, until the golden light just grazes the horizon.

Bernie stands, and takes one last look before the sun disappears. She turns, and races the light back home, trying to make it to the garden before the last light fades.

She runs fast. And as she runs, she feels that intangible sensation of wildness and joy. Happiness, at the feeling of the earth beneath her feet as she flies.

Bernie calls the feeling _freedom_.


	2. Chapter 2

Bernie loves races.

She loves the tension in the air as each runner places their toes on the white line painted in the grass. The line is long and curved, a half dome temporarily etched into the earth.

Cross Country races seem to always happen on cold mornings, when the air is crisp, and when her breath fogs in front of her face. The spikes on the bottom of her racing flats are razor sharp, and they bite into the mud. Rain from the night before has left the ground wet, and the grass is covered in dew.  The mud is deep this morning, and it will be a damp and cold October day. The sun is still low in the sky, not quite half way.

Her singlet has flecks of dirt on it, already kicked up from the stride outs. No frost lingers as the sun rises higher, but Bernie’s knows the days are coming when the snows will stay, and linger like a dreamy white blanket over the course.

Bernie stomps her feet, trying to ward off the cold as they wait for the race to begin. She blows hot air onto her frozen fingers, shaking her exposed legs and arms. Her heart is racing, and she feels that rush, the push to run hard and fast. She takes a deep breath.

There is a slight wind, and it drifts across the open field, and comes to play in Bernie’s hair. Her blonde curls are pulled back with a ribbon, an accessory the rest of the girls on her team insist upon. It creates solidarity, apparently. Bernie lets one of the girls tie it in her hair every time, only then does the ribbon sit in a perfect bow on top of her head. Bernie doesn’t really understand the need for a ribbon, and knows it will probably fall away somewhere during the race. Knows that it will drift to the ground, long before she makes the hairpin turn and runs across the finish line. Bernie shakes her legs one more time. They ache, and are tired from the tough practices this week. It is a good ache.

She looks down the line of runners, and sees the most competitive school a few spots down. Bernie searches for her. It takes a moment, for she is quite short, but there she is, toeing the line and looking up at the sky.

Anna.

Bernie has been racing her for years, and they have become something akin to rivals. It’s a silly thing, trumped up by the small local papers. But it's exciting for this quiet corner of the country. Bernie’s brothers have even taken to placing bets on the races, coming to watch and gloat as she crosses the tape. She can't seem to bring herself to look for her brothers in the crowd today. It’s their last race before University, and Bernie wants to watch her one last time.

Anna seems quiet today. Her long, dark hair is pulled back, and her uniform is still pristine. Her face looks a little worn, a little tired. Bernie watches as she stretches, and then as she stands tall. Her right hand coming to settle around her necklace. Bernie knows it is a cross, for she has watched Anna many times before and after races. Anna’s movements before each race are small and practiced, ritualistic and filled with something Bernie cannot understand. She watches Anna pray.

Anna runs for her faith, but Bernie runs for herself. And no one else. After a time, Bernie turns away, and looks to the man standing in the middle of the field with a starter pistol. The crack echoes across the field, and Bernie begins to run.  

The beginning of races are always the hardest. The crowd is thick, and the way is wide, but it narrows when they reach the end of the field. There, the course becomes a winding, slithering thing, that makes its way along the moor, before turning back toward the sea. Bernie runs hard to make it to the front of the pack, and peels away with the leaders. It’s five girls, running hard for the first two kilometers, up the hill and down into the valley. The mud is everywhere now, slippery and dangerous. Bernie leaps and bounds, stretching out her long legs as she glides through the meadow. She feels light and focuses on keeping contact with the first three places. She stays back, preferring to watch and follow.

Then, they run across the stream, and the water is so cold that Bernie gasps as she plunges in. The water rises to her calves, and she is shivering when she runs up the opposite bank. The third kilometer is the hardest. Up and up, to the top of a hill, and then the hairpin turn back toward the beginning. This course is one big loop, and the halfway point is a sharp turn. Bernie runs harder up the hill, and she smiles when she thinks about running through the garden and away to the tree at the top of her little world.

When they pass the fourth kilometer the leading pack is only three runners. And then, there are only two.

There are no crowds this far out, and the course is barren. It is all lonely moors and grass that waves in the wind. The only thing Bernie can hear is the sound of her breathing and the sound of Anna running beside her. They are still far away, distant and over the hill from the last kilometer. Bernie can hear cowbells in the distance, and wants this race to last forever. She wishes her whole life was this moment; Anna and her running together in silence, the morning bright and the race nearly won. It is achingly peaceful.

But the race is not over. The finish line looms, and when they cross the last four hundred meter mark, Bernie runs harder. She picks up the pace, lengthening her stride, and kicking her feet up as she runs up the last hill. And then, quite suddenly, Anna begins to slow, then disappears from Bernie’s view.

For an instant Bernie cannot bear it, and she longs to see Anna smiling at the end. She wishes Anna could win this race, their final race together. Bernie wants to give Anna that victory, that brief intimate moment when she looks up to the sky and grasps the cross that dangles around her neck in every race. She wishes she could give Anna that moment, to somehow share it.

Bernie can still hear Anna’s breathing and she figures that Anna is only perhaps a few paces behind. Bernie almost begins to slow as they approach the final hundred meters. When they near the field, she looks up to the people pressed close together around the chute. They are screaming her name and she thinks she sees a face among them. Her heart lurches.

Bernie’s father is in the crowd and he is looking at her the way he looked when she was small. He is smiling again, seeming impossibly younger and lighter and filled with something that was forgotten long ago. Bernie disappears for an instant, and goes somewhere else, and does not remember the moment she can no longer hear Anna behind her.  

Bernie breaks the tape, and feels like a conquering queen coming home to an empire she built herself.


	3. Chapter 3

Eventually, Bernie stops competing.

She goes to University, and runs along the cobbled alleyways of Cambridge, past the long lines of student bikes that wind their way down the road. Stress and exams and large textbooks haunt her dreams, and she goes home on the train as often as she can. She goes home to see her father, to sit in her mother’s garden, to go to the pub with her brothers. They sneak her beer until she’s eighteen, and hoot and holler as she beats all the lads at arm wrestling.

In medical school, she comes home at the weekend to see her father through treatments. She sits in the uncomfortable chair by the side of the hospital bed and reads to him in her stuttering voice. She runs alone and watches him grow smaller and smaller, until he disappears all together.

Her mother looks beautiful in black. Tall and blonde and icy. Bernie watches as she fiercely digs up the plants in the garden, brings up the roots and bulbs and replaces them with white roses. Her father’s favorite flower. Bernie kneels down beside her in the dirt, and her fingernails are caked with mud when they are finished planting. Next year, the house is covered with white roses. The garden wall is hidden by the vines and her mother sits with Geordie at her feet and a cup of peppermint tea in her chilled hands.

Bernie marries Marcus, and her mother smiles stiffly at their wedding. Just before the ceremony, her mother asks her if she's sure. She grips Bernie's hands and looks deep into her eyes. Bernie hesitates, then nods, and walks down the aisle. Afterwards, she keeps looking for a reason to slip away from Marcus and leave the party in the white tent. When she finally does, she finds her brothers with their bow ties undone, smoking cigars by the river. She stands next to them and takes in a long, deep breath.

Her body changes with the birth of her children. She is a little rounder, a little softer. A little slower. Her arms get bigger- stronger for the carrying of children. Her heart grows bigger too, and she stops going on runs for a long time. She is unwilling to become one of those mothers who push a pram in front of them on jogs through the park. Running was always just hers.

Running is one of the things she changes about herself in order to better fit the mold of what Marcus thinks a doting wife and mother should be. She gives up running, and it is the first of many sacrifices she makes for her marriage, for her children.

Being home is so rare, that she dare not spend any of it away from them. When she is home from tour, she does not go out on runs. She does not spend any time alone out on the country lanes, with the setting moon above her as the only spectator. She forces herself to lay still in bed, and fights the urge to rush out the door and chase the feelings away. The feelings of doubt about her marriage, the creeping emptiness she feels every time Marcus kisses her. Her parents had always seemed so happy, comfortable and effortless.  But Bernie is anxious and restless and cannot wait to get back to the army. Being home makes her feel bitter and out of place, torn between two places. She is a little lost, a little aimless.

She begins to run again when the children are in secondary school. Cameron and Charlotte run with her a few times, and for a moment Bernie dreams of running with her father again, and feels him beside her. But Marcus thinks family runs are silly, and he enrolls the children in football. Their jaunts from Grandma’s garden of white roses to the top of the world are replaced by footie practices in the schoolyard. Bernie tries not to feel usurped by this, and goes to every game she can. She smiles from the sidelines and stands quietly next to Marcus.

When she is not at home, Bernie runs hard and fast and trains with the other medics and the men in her unit.  She flies across the desert sands, with sunburned skin and drenched hair. She feels a little more herself and remembers her cross country days, but also remembers her track days, back when the tracks were made of cinder. When Bernie fell to the ground during a practice, she’d find flecks of stone in her kneecaps days later. Now when she falls, sand gets everywhere.

In the desert, her mind clears, and finally goes quiet.

She breaths in and out, and keeps on running.

Alex joins her and eventually becomes her training partner. They rarely speak. It's too hot and they are too tired to carry on a conversation. Instead, they run in quiet camaraderie. It is the first time she feels comfortable sharing this part of her morning. This sacred time of day when she feels most authentically herself. Before she becomes a soldier, a wife, a mother. Before she becomes anything other than _Bernie_.

They run side by side, and their movements are ancient and simple. Bernie feels free again, and wonders why she has never gone for a run with Marcus. For the first time in many years, Bernie wonders whatever happened to Anna.

Bernie comes to rely on Alex’s stoic nature, her calmness and soft smile. They rise together and run in the cool dawn, then work and save lives in the hot sun. They save a young man on the side of the road in the dust and the heat and the next day Bernie runs twenty miles. She pushes Alex along with her, dares her to keep up. Alex stays with her the whole, long way. Bernie tries to run from the feelings that grow stronger each day.

She runs and runs and grows weary from the running and finally, falls into Alex’s arms.


	4. Chapter 4

Bernie stumbles, mumbles, and falls in love all over again. It is entirely different. Serena is... something all together frightening. Bernie gets scared. 

She does a runner. 

Then, returns. 

She stands next to Serena at the funeral. She stands like a soldier. Resolute and quiet, shoulder to shoulder. 

Bernie is astonished when none of the flowers in the house are white roses. The house is like a florist's, and not a single white rose. 

The morning Serena leaves to find her vineyard, Bernie rises in silence. She laces up her shoes and ignores the empty space in the bed beside her. She walks out the door while trying to forget. 

Bernie goes for a run.


	5. Chapter 5

Waiting is hard for Bernie. She has always been a woman of action, her days were composed of purposeful movements, battle plans and precise procedure. This waiting is hard, and it is full of stillness and standing in Serena’s house, holding open the door and looking in at an empty fridge. Her heart hurts and the British summer is long and rainy, filled with waiting.

Bernie wakes and looks at her phone, waits for a text, an email, or voice message. Bernie waits for a letter, waits for a sign, something to hold onto and carry with her through the long shifts. Long, lonely hours at the hospital, and in theatre. It’s strange, to operate in silence, without Serena there to talk to her.

She misses Serena’s voice in her ear, and her presence beside her in all things. Theatre is lonely, Albie’s is too loud and too crowded, home is too quiet, and the fridge is empty.

Jason says she’s losing weight. He says it bluntly, with kindness in his voice, but he sounds worried and Bernie’s heart clenches. They go to Waitrose, and walk down the aisles together, checking off each item that Jason had carefully written down on a piece of paper. They drive home through the afternoon rain, quietly put the food away, and after that the fridge is never empty.

One morning, Bernie comes home from a run. The sun has just risen, and the rain is soft and gentle, more of a mist than a drizzle. Jason is sitting at the table, a cup of tea and a plate of jam on toast in front of him. She mumbles “good morning,” and fills up a glass with water. Jason watches her in silence and Bernie knows he’s planned this. She turns and watches him take a deep breath before speaking.

“Auntie Bernie, why do you run every morning? Is it for your health?”

Bernie swallows, and sets the glass down on the counter of Serena’s immaculate kitchen.

“I… I guess I’ve always been a runner Jason.”

He nods, and takes a bite of his toast.

“It helps me think,” she says.  

“Running helps you think?” A single eyebrow lifts on Jason’s face and Bernie fights the tightening in her chest.

“I guess, it's therapeutic.”

“Interesting,” he says with finality, before turning back to his breakfast.

Bernie smiles and goes up to shower.

A few mornings later, she returns from a long run. It’s a saturday and it is uncommonly hot, even for July. Bernie is covered in sweat, and her hair is all in disarray and sticks to her forehead. She pushes her fringe back as she walks into the house, and smiles at a particular memory. That first morning she woke up at Serena’s, when she had returned from a run. It had been back in November when the air had been crisp and the weather ripe for running. Serena had been spellbound by Bernie’s flushed skin, and she had grasped Bernie’s fingers that were cool from the Autumn morning. Serena had murmured something about her eyes being brightened by the exercise, and had dragged Bernie back up the stairs and into bed.

Bernie smiles as she drinks cold water, and tries to settle her heart rate.

The run was long, so Jason has already eaten. Bernie finds him sitting in the garden, reading one of his magazines. He looks up as Bernie comes to settle down on the steps outside. She takes another sip of water, and closes her eyes as she sits in the sun.

The silence is broken by Jason asking, “Auntie Bernie, would you be interested in training for something?”

Bernie opens her eyes in surprise. “Training for what?”

“Well,” Jason says carefully. “The Holby Marathon is in a few months, and I think it would be fun. Would give you something to look forward to while Auntie Serena is away.”

Bernie smiles gently at his concern.

“I could train you. I’ve been doing a lot of research into different training programs, and I could help you with what you’re supposed to eat, how long you should run and how fast.” Jason’s voice is eager and his smile wide.

“Something we would do together?” she asks quietly.

“Exactly," Jason says. "And Cameron has already said he would help me buy me a  good stopwatch and a clipboard.”

Bernie honks, and ducks her head as she laughs. _A conspiracy has been formed_ , she thinks. Bernie cannot bring herself to be upset.

“Cameron knows about this?” she asks after a moment. 

Jason nods, his smile growing impossibly larger.

Bernie smiles back. “Alright.”

…

Soon after, Bernie comes to hate that clipboard and stopwatch. Jason stands at the end of the track at the local school. He calls out her splits as she rounds the bend to finish the third mile.

“Faster, Auntie Bernie. You’re too slow.”

Cameron is grinning as she passes them, and she huffs and puffs and keeps on running. The air is thick and hot and Bernie tries to remember how she could go on such long runs in the desert. She feels old, and her legs are heavy as she picks up the pace.

This is the third week of training. The marathon is in two months, scheduled for the end of September. Jason has driven the course a number of times, has analyzed every sharp turn and hill, has memorized the mile marks and has already decided where he’ll stand on race day. Bernie has taken to calling him “Coach.” and Jason grins every time she says it.

Cameron joins them, and sometimes on the long runs, when Bernie is tired, he runs the last few miles with her. One weekend in August they drive up to the lake district and Bernie runs a Fell Race. It’s technical running, and it helps Bernie with her footwork. The hills help too, and Bernie walks away from the quick fifteen kilometer race feeling stronger. She ends the day with mud all over her legs, splattered up along her back. Her hands are dirty and she feels _alive._

The sun in setting as they drive back down to Holby. The clouds are gigantic and puffy, with edges that are bright gold from the sun. Bernie watches the clouds turn pink as they keep driving, and smiles when the sky is all red with fire. She remembers trying to chase the sun when she was small, and looks out the window when the moon peeks over the mountains. It rises slowly, and then all of the sudden is free of the horizon. They arrive home in the darkness as the long day closes, and Bernie sleeps hard.

…

Serena is not the first person who Bernie loved. Bernie had loved before, and had even stood at an altar with Marcus and said the words. She had meant them, or at least had wanted to mean them. She had wanted so desperately to be that person, had wanted to be in love with him. But in the end, simply wishing a part of herself away wasn’t enough, and he got the kids to write statements; chapter and verse on her failings as a wife and mother. Serena gets her through it.

After the divorce, Bernie had not expected to fall in love again. Friendship had been enough. After all friends, is quite something, and Bernie didn’t want to lose Serena. Serena had known far too much loss. She had lost both her parents, and her sister. She had been through divorce, and even though she discussed the whole matter with quips and turns of wit, Bernie could see the underlying sadness when Serena spoke about her marriage.

Elinor was distant, and Jason could be difficult, but Serena loved them both to pieces. Bernie loved Serena almost instantly. She loved Serena because of her sharpness, her anger and cleverness and laughter. She loved Serena for her softness when Jason asks her a question, and for the way Serena looks at her in the mornings after a run.

Their love arrived unannounced, in the middle of a shift, in the middle of their lives, when Bernie had least expected love to come. She had not asked for it, but had welcomed the warm feeling in her chest like an old friend. She had kissed Serena on the theatre floor, and Serena had kissed her back.

But waiting to hear from Serena is like waiting for rain to fall in the desert.

…

They train all the way through August, running through the last days of summer. Jason crosses off the days on the careful schedule he mapped out all those months ago. They cook together in the evenings, large bowls of Pasta with pesto. Meals for a runner.

September arrives and the trees turn bright with oranges and yellows and reds. It was always Bernie’s favorite time of year, when the children were anxious and excited about going back to school. One year, Charlotte’s bookbag had been as big as her, and she had waddled across the school yard, with bundles of markers and pens clutched in her fists. She’d returned home with art projects, a stained uniform from finger painting, and a skinned knee from running.

Autumn is the best time for running. It is still and quiet and the shadow of winter is still a few months away. Jason is more nervous than Bernie in the last week before the race. He paces on the track, looking through her workouts, cataloging their months of work. He furrows his brow and mumbles to himself and Cameron cannot help but look on in amusement as Bernie does stride outs and race pace 800s. Finally, when the workout is complete Jason turns to the two of them. Bernie is still breathing hard, and is leaning on her knees when Jason says it.

“I think you’re ready.”

Bernie smiles as Cameron hands her a bottle of water.

…

It is not a real marathon unless the queue for the toilets is a mile long. Bernie hops from foot to foot, and tries not to think about how she’s absolutely bursting. She makes it in time to stand in the corral, and tries not to be anxious about the crowd.

The gun goes off and the race starts.

Bernie lumbers across the start line, and tries to shake off the stiffness in her legs. She checks the time on her watch at each mile mark, trying to stick to Jason’s splits. She’s ahead of schedule at mile four, going out a bit quick. Water stations are nearly every two miles, and the crowds are incredible. The streets are lined with spectators shaking cowbells and holding up signs with clever catch phrases. Bernie’s favorite is ‘Run, perfect strangers!!!’

Ten miles fly by, and she’s not feeling too bad. At sixteen miles, her legs are tired, and she’s crossing the bridge over the river. She sees Jason, Cameron and Morven all bundled up in warm, puffy coats, standing at the other end of the bridge, just before the biggest climb of the race. She grins when she sees Charlotte with them too. They have a large sign that says ‘Go Mum!’, and Bernie tries not to tear up. She waves as she passes them and sees Charlotte smile as Cameron shouts ‘That’s my mum! Go Mum!’

Twenty-two miles is the longest she’s run during training, and she passes the marker in good time. Only four miles to go. Her heart is pounding, and the stiffness in her legs is returning. She shakes her arms and lengthens her stride and listens to the cheers and laughs at all the other runners dressed in funny outfits. There’s a man in a banana suit, a team of women in rugby uniforms, and a group of young men in sparkly pink tutus. It’s a joyous atmosphere, and Bernie cannot help but get swept up in the spirit of things.

She keeps on running, and takes the last sharp turn and crosses the twenty-five mile mark. One mile to go.

That’s when she sees it, far ahead in the distance, in the middle of the crowd. A bright flash of red.

Bernie had seen that red coat everywhere in the spring. She had seen it in crowds at the markets, in the waiting room of the hospital, in Waitrose, in London. Even now, many months later, her heart lurches at the sight of a woman in a red coat.

 _It’s not her,_ Bernie tells herself. She shakes it off, and focuses on the finish line. She is determined to be happy today, determined to share this with her family. Determined to not let herself drift away.

She sprints across the finish line, weary and bone tired.

_I did it._

As she finishes the marathon she promises herself that she will conquer this darkness, that she will keep on living. She will endure. Bernie’s run ends, and she finally lets herself slow down.

Walking feels strange after moving so long in one attitude. Her knees are all wobbly and the cold autumn air finally reaches her. She shivers, and is grateful when a race volunteer wraps a foil blanket around her shoulders. She murmurs “Thank you,” as another volunteer gracefully places a medal around her neck. She grabs a banana and a water bottle from an aid station, and begins to shuffle her way towards the tents. Jason had said they would all meet up by the tent marked ‘W’, for families to wait for their runners to finish. Bernie weaves her way through the crowd, smiling at all the cheerful hugs and kisses, the weary people collapsing into their friends.

Bernie looks up and sees Serena moving towards her through the crowd.

Bernie will never forget the first glimpse of Serena’s face, illuminated by flashes of September sunlight. She had dreamt nightly of that face, and had dreamed that she was running, always running to catch up to Serena as she turned her face away. The moment is shining and their progress towards one another is slow, but Serena reaches her and smiles. Bernie thinks she looks like Christmas morning.

They do not touch, for Bernie is afraid that if she reaches for Serena the moment will shatter, and it will all have been a dream. Bernie hopes she never wakes up.

But Serena reaches out first, and gently pushes Bernie’s sweaty fringe out of her eyes. Her fingers are cool to the touch, soft and soothing and Bernie’s eyelids flutter shut. She breaths in the morning and opens her eyes when Serena's hand falls away.

“I was tired of running,” Serena murmurs.

Bernie nods and steps closer.

“Jason said it would be a good surprise,” Serena says uncertainly. She looks worried by Bernie’s silence and furrows her brow before attempting a small smile. Bernie chuckles and Serena’s smile grows at the sound.

“Another conspiracy,” Bernie whispers.

Serena shakes her head, and leans up on her tiptoes to sweetly kiss Bernie on the mouth. Serena kisses Bernie in the middle of the street, in the middle of a crowd, where Bernie least expects it.

“Come my darling,” Serena whispers against Bernie’s quivering lips. “Let's get you warmed up.”

Serena takes Bernie’s hand in hers and leads Bernie all the way home.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Bernie rises before Serena.

They are in Scotland somewhere, remote and isolated and far away from anything. A whole week of the two of them tucked away in a stone cottage with a thatched roof. Far away from pagers and phone calls, and adorable but overwhelming grandchildren.

Bernie leaves Serena in bed, and tiptoes her way to the kitchen to brew some coffee. She sits by the fireplace as the smell of coffee filters through the kitchen. Glowing embers are still orange and quivering in the predawn light. Bernie had sat in an armchair, nodding by the fire, as Serena read to her last night.

Serena is writing her teaching plan for the spring. Schedules and lessons for the young doctors. Teaching has slowly become a good thing for Serena. She is finding old joys again, picking up old habits and ways, and finding reassurance in the familiarity of them. Teaching hadn’t been easy at first, since Serena can be inpatient, and a little quick to judge. But she tells each new batch of F1’s to observe, learn, and always question their own decisions.

After that night on the roof, Serena never saw Jasmine again. 

It gets a bit easier each year.

She reads the lectures to Bernie, sometimes for advice, and sometimes to help Bernie fall asleep. Last night, Bernie had slept as Serena scribbled on her notepad late into the evening. She remembers Serena kissing her cheek to rouse her and Serena’s voice whispering into her hair.

“Come to bed, my love.”

Bernie remembers the shadow from the firelight across Serena's face, and remembers leaning up to greet her with a kiss. She remembers pressing Serena down into the mattress, her fingers tangled in Serena’s hair, and her lips on Serena’s neck. She shivers at the memory, and goes to pour herself a cup of coffee.

Bernie catches a glimpse of herself in the reflection of the kitchen window. She is still unaccustomed to her grey hair. It’s silver and strange, wispy and soft.  Her hair had begun to fade last year, and she had finally let it. Flaxen to white, a gentle transition. Serena catalogs every change in Bernie, and her fingers always seem fascinated with every voyage through the strands. Serena loves each change, every line, and wrinkle, and new softness. 

Bernie is now as old as her father ever was. How strange, to be sixty.

She steps out into the dawn, still dark and cold. It had snowed last night, and the chill of night lingers. The world is grey and lovely, and in the fullness of time, Serena will rise and come downstairs and find Bernie gone for a run. But Bernie’s legs are tired and her heart is full. Full of Serena, and time, and of the silvery lake that sits at the bottom of the valley. Besides the lake, the moon, and the house, the valley is just white emptiness. A snow covered wilderness four miles from the village.

Bernie looks at the horizon and sees a runner crossing the vale. She is a small speck in the wide distance. Bernie takes another sip of coffee and turns back into the house.

The cottage is an ancient structure, one that will keep a person cool in the summer, and dry in the winter. The floorboards creak as Bernie climbs up the stairs. She enters the small bedroom at the back of the cottage. There is a little window overlooking the valley, and the sunlight will soon slant through the glass and slowly creep across the floor. Serena is still snoring, and Bernie smiles at the sound. She gently places the coffee cup on the nightstand, and comes to sit at the foot of the bed. Her hand wraps around Serena’s ankle, her fingertips gently stroking the skin above her wooly sock.

Serena stirs slowly, awakened by Bernie’s touch, and the smell of coffee. She shifts slowly, and pulls her leg up to sit against the headboard. She rubs her eyes with her fists, and turns to Bernie.

“Morning,” Serena mumbles with a smile.

Bernie’s heart is full at the sight of her. She is all bundled up in warmth, and her face is still full of sleep and her eyes are slightly scrunched up.

“Did you sleep well?”

Serena nods, and turns to reach for the coffee. She cradles the mug in her hands, closes her eyes as the steam rises to her face, hums as she takes the first sip. Bernie smiles, and her chest tightens, so she looks out the window.

“No run today?”

Serena’s voice is soft as Bernie looks at the frosted fields.

“Not today,” she whispers. _Tomorrow._

Bernie takes in a deep breath and looks back at her wife.

“Come and watch the morning with me?”

The request is quiet, and full of yearning. Bernie yearns to be near Serena, and it seems Bernie is always yearning these days. She’s become quite the romantic in her old age.

Serena smiles, and nods.

They carry down blankets and put on slippers, shuffle down the stairs and through the front door, out into the sharp winter air. A cloudless sky greets them, pale blue and a little rosy. A final star stands watch over the lake, as the moon begins to fade.They settle down on the bench just outside the door, and lean back against the cold stone, shifting closer together beneath the tartan blanket. Bernie hands Serena the coffee, and they sit in silence as the day begins. Birds are singing somewhere in the distance, and the rest is silence.  

Another runner passes through the valley, moving swiftly along the road. They watch her until she disappears around the bend.

“It’s bloody cold,” Serena whispers after a few minutes. She says it with a smile, and whispers it, as if the weather is a great secret.

Bernie laughs.

“Then come closer,” she whispers back.

Serena giggles and comes a little nearer, eventually resting her head on Bernie’s left shoulder. Her hand finds Bernie’s under the blanket, and she grasps Bernie’s cold fingers in hers. The sun has almost arrived.

Bernie looks ahead to the crowd of mountains that stand beyond the valley, and thinks of a route for tomorrow. She daydreams for a little while of the climb, and smiles when she hears Serena start to snore again. She turns and places a gentle kiss to the top of Serena’s head.

Her legs are sore from a long journey the other day, running up and up a mountain that never seemed to end. So she stretches them out, flexing her toes and stretches a little, careful not to disturb Serena. Serena who is at her side, always a river of kindness.

Bernie would rather be here than anywhere else. A run can wait, because perfect winter mornings are few and far between, and Bernie and Serena are rarely together and alone. Bernie loves to be alone, but she loves Serena more. So today she stays, and plans for tomorrow. On this frosty morning in December, when all is quiet and new, Bernie is happy. Bernie is happy because she is here, next to Serena for as long as they both shall live. And in the long run, this is where she will stay. 

Bernie wakes Serena as the sun finally, _finally_ rises.

 


End file.
